


Imprint

by Cyberfairie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Loss, Death of Major Characters, Dragon Age Spoilers, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberfairie/pseuds/Cyberfairie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a young boy questions the loyalty of a mabari his grandfather decides to explain some of the breeds better traits.  Each chapter covers different friends from the grandfather's life as an example of loyalty, patience, devotion and love.</p><p>As this is set in the future of Dragon Age as we know it, there are deaths of some characters as a result of time. The death of others are a result of my mind insisting the story be told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loyalty

“Why won’t he go home grandpa?”

“Chief’s a mabari Stan, when they imprint it’s for life.”

“What’s ‘mprit mean grandpa?”

“So many things youngling,” the elder whispered, raising his shaking hand to ruffle through the child’s golden hair. His focus turned to the mabari laying on the mound of fresh turned dirt, his coppery fur studded with gray. “Mostly it means that he’ll know but one true master, one best friend, one true love in all his life.”

The child’s face crumbled as he flung himself at the dog, wrapping small arms around his neck and crying, “But that’s not fair…I love HIM!”

“And he loves you too child, in his way, but most of him will always belong to someone else. Some things are just too deep to ever experience more than once, to be lessened by repetition,” the elder said, chuckling softly as the child’s face scrunched in confusion. Such a hard lesson to learn, especially so young but perhaps…

With a pat of the bench next to him the elder smiled, “Sit with me Stan and I’ll tell you about another mabari trait…loyalty.”

 

***************

  
The first time Alistair met Zevran he knew he was trouble. Not just because the assassin somehow managed to still be charismatic sprawled on the ground at Mahariel’s feet, but because of the look he could see in Mahariel’s eyes when she watched the man. He knew what people thought of him; that because he chose to find the good in life, to bring a smile to others faces, that he was simple. But simple didn’t mean stupid. Besides, as a man already half in love with her he knew the look of infatuation when he saw it.

So, when Mahariel not only spared the Antivan but actually invited him to join their little group Alistair resigned himself to an endless string of sleepless nights. It might be stupid to take a wolf for a pet, but it would be suicidal to do so without expecting it to bite.

A week later, and only after falling asleep on his feet and walking into a tree, Alistair finally, begrudgingly, admitted that perhaps the Antivan wasn’t going to slit their throats as they slept. And after the first time he felt one of Zevran’s daggers fly by his cheek to find its home in the darkspawn’s throat that had been creeping up on Alistair he finally slept deeply.

By the time they reached Denerim Alistair had learned to trust the assassin, even if his sleep was now occasionally interrupted by Mahariel calling the Antivan’s name deep into the night. If not for the fact Alistair would prefer it was his name she was moaning he might have called the other man his friend. Regardless, now that the elf had stopped propositioning him with every other breath he found his company tolerably pleasant. Come to think of it, Zevran had pretty much stopped propositioning everyone. Oh, the elf still flirted, Alistair doubted the Antivan even knew conversations could be held without it, but he certainly didn’t mean it. Perhaps the man was truly in love.

They might have continued like that for some time, Alistair was content enough to follow in the footsteps of his fellow Warden and her elven lover. It beat the alternative of actually listening to his uncle and attempting to become king, Maker forbid. But the Archdemon changed all of that. Or make that his dear, sweet, TOTALLY A LIAR, love Mahariel changed all that.

 

That day still haunts his dreams even all these years later. At the time he had thought the static cage had been cast by one of the darkspawn, trapping him and leaving him helpless as he watched Mahariel streak past, her fingers curling around the sword hilt only a few feet in front of him before continuing to slide beneath the wounded dragon, tearing it open from throat to gut then slamming the sword through the top of its skull.

It had only been later, after he had forced himself to walk away and leave Zevran to privately mourn the woman they both loved that he had found the note. As if learning she knew she was going to her death hadn’t been enough, Maker but the thought of that last spell having come from her almost undid him, she had charged him with watching over the Antivan.

Damned woman. He had cursed her name for the first few years. Zevran had been less than pleased to find himself shackled to the wrong Grey Warden. Only the fact that the two had been eating, sleeping and fighting in close contact for the prior year allowed Alistair to keep up with him at all. Damn fool man had insisted on heading straight back to Antiva. If Alistair hadn’t known better he’d have thought Zevran had a death wish. When he lost the assassin the first time in Rialto and only picked up his trail again in Antiva City, Alistair had KNOWN the man had a death wish.

And yet the slippery elf seemed to avoid death again and again. Alistair lost him twice more over the next three years, almost losing his own life in the search when he found himself in Kirkwall just in time for the start of the second Qunari invasion. If it had been up to him he’d have let them have the damn city, it was a cesspool. His sense of honor was pulled in two that day, innocent lives verses the reluctant custodianship Mahariel had thrust upon him. In the end remaining true to his love won out and he left the city behind him along with the only gift Mahariel had ever given him.  
It had taken Alistair the better part of the next year to finally track the assassin down in a little Maker-forsaken town on the border of Tevinter and Nevarra. He could still remember the look of astonished respect on the elf’s face when he’d walked into the bar and thrown his pack down at his feet. After that things got easier. More years spent on the move, either chasing or being chased by other Crows, but at least Zevran quit trying to lose him.

 

“Come now my friend, what could that pack have done to you to cause you to scowl at it so? Unless perhaps you failed to heed my advice to use our break to wash those garments of yours. Please tell me that is not so, or I fear I must insist on walking downwind of you today.”

Turning his attention back to the present Alistair groaned, “Have you ever uttered anything less than a ten word sentence in your life Zev?”

“Words are but the first step of seduction my friend. I would think that after all this time you would have learned that lesson. Of course with your ruggedly handsome features I’m sure the ladies are satisfied with a wink and a growl,” Zevran countered, posing himself in the doorframe in a mocking copy of Alistair’s own typical slouch. “Still, for one such as myself, I have to work for it.”

“Yes, yes, not everyone can be as amazing as me.” Alistair didn’t bother trying to hide his laughter, although he tempered it with a roll of his eyes. His smile faded as he straightened to face the Antivan before continuing, “Seriously, though, you don’t need to come with me Zevran. I know this is a most likely a wild goose chase, I mean if a cure for the Calling actually existed surely someone more knowledgeable than me would have found it already.”

“Ah, I have always found knowledge to be a dangerous thing my friend,” Zevran rushed to assure him, only belatedly realizing the hidden insult in his words. “Not, of course, that I…”

Chuckling, Alistair shook off any attempt at apology. He’d always wondered how it was that the normally eloquent assassin tended to trip over his words when it came to an apology. But, today was not the day for him to enjoy the struggle. “Zev, please, we both know that I’m more the brute force sort. Still, I can only imagine what we’re likely to find during this journey and none of it is good.”

“All the more reason to have one such as me along. Who else would pull your foot out of your mouth for you?” Zevran chided, then in a rare show of seriousness he pushed away from the doorframe and moved to stand before Alistair.

Settling his hand onto Alistair’s shoulder there was no trace of mirth in his voice when he said, “My friend, you have stood at my side for many years. I may not have much in this life, but your loyalty is important to me. I would stand with you now to prove mine. It is what she would have wanted. It is, indeed, what I want.”

Clasping both hands around Zevran’s shoulders, Alistair just nodded sharply once before turning back to his packing. Damn his eyes for choosing that moment to start watering, and if anyone asked, he’d say he stubbed his toe.


	2. Patience

“But Warden Alistair DID cure the blight.”

“Not the blight Stan, unfortunately that still remains a threat. But for the Calling, yes, he certainly did.”

“And Ser Zevran helped him?”

“That he did Stan, the last time I saw the two of them they were going back to Antiva. Something about Zevran’s bones missing the warmth.”

Laughter exploded from the boy. “It’s plenty warm now grandpa.”

Chuckling, the elder shook his head slowly, “For me too Stan. I never could stand the heat. But everyone is different. I suppose Zevran had been patient enough dealing with years of Ferelden winters.”  
Shivering at the thought, the boy whispered, “It does get cold.”

“Exactly. So what do you say we enjoy the heat a while longer while I tell you of another mabari trait…that of Patience.”

 

***************

The city was bathed in red. Light not blood for a change but if they moved closer to the blast they would certainly find both. As his companions gasped in horror Fenris found himself turning inward. Something in the smoke and light and destruction pulling him into his own past. Instead of stone and brick he saw mud and trees. Dead bodies replaced those of the living and he felt his chest clinch as again he remembered the absolute devastation of coming out of his killing haze to see that the Fog Warriors who had only wanted to shelter him splayed out on the ground, dead by his own hand.

Abomination. How often had he called the mage that and yet how much better the word suited him. Ten years of blaming Danarius, Hadriana, Varania, Anders, when it was he who had proven to be the monster. He who had taken everything the Fog Warriors had offered, surrounded himself with their sympathy and understanding then pulled those same giving hearts from their bodies at the commands of his master.  
He was oblivious to the conversations surrounding him as his mind now triggered events of the last eight years. Anders insisting the mages were slaves, Fenris dismissing his concerns with a growl that they were pampered pets. The scores of slavers he had slain with Hawke and Varric, Anders at their side, always at their damn side despite Fenris’ cruel taunts. Varania, dead, Anders there. Hadriana, dead, Anders there. Danarius, damn it, even Danarius…

He was only dimly aware of the voices around him stopping, of the fact that he was now the center of his companions’ attention. Forcing his mind to replay the conversation that had been going on around him he realized they wanted his opinion on what to do with the mage. He was still trying to make sense of the revelations going on in his own head, his thoughts turning inward again as he growled, “He wants to die, kill him and be done with it.”

Behind him someone gasped. Other voices began sharing opinions.

Yes, he’d said it.

He’d said it and he meant it. He’d never meant anything more in his life. Death was what the abomination deserved and judging by the fact the mage wasn’t glowing blue even his demon knew it. Hell, even HAWKE knew it and that fool had given Anders more chances than Fenris could count.  
Yet none of that could explain why his fist was now lodged in Hawke’s chest cavity, his hand wrapped around the man’s still beating heart. He didn’t even remember moving.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s…”

“Fenris what in Andraste’s name…”

“Oh, I don’t think…”

“Uhm, Fenris…”

“Damn Broody, you always did have a shitty sense of timing.”

It was the dwarf’s rumbling voice that silenced everyone, four sets of eyes swinging to look at him in confusion. “Please, I can’t be the only one to have seen this coming,” Varric snickered.

“Varric,” Hawke grumbled, one brow arching as he looked from Varric to some point slightly beyond Fenris’ shoulder and back again.

“Sorry, sorry,” Varric muttered, holding his hands up in a placating manner as he approached the pair slowly. “Now Broody, I think everyone might be more comfortable if you turned the glow off without turning Hawke’s innards into outards.”

“I fail to see what timing has to do with it. He wants to kill the mage,” Fenris growled, his chest vibrating with anger even as a frown formed between his brows. What in the hell was the matter with him? What made sense was to remove his hand from Hawke’s chest and let him grant the abomination the peace he wanted, but no matter how much he tried to convince himself of that his hand didn’t move.

Varric’s voice cut through Fenris’ thoughts again. “I think ‘wants’ is a strong term Fenris. Hawke, how ‘bout you tell Broody here that nothing is going to happen to Anders.”

Hawke opened his mouth, then closed it again, sighed and opened it again only to be interrupted…

“Fenris?” Anders voice was hardly more than a whisper, but drew Fenris’ eyes like a shot. Golden eyes narrowed in confusion and shock met his own and it was as if all of Fenris’ thoughts congealed into one.

They were the same.

Fuck. How many times had Hawke tried to tell him? Both of them prisoners escaped from their prison, never able to rest without wondering when they would be pulled back in. Abominations against nature, trying to make sense of their own fucked up place in the world. Both destroying anything good that happened to them, suspicious, like an animal chewing off its own paw to get free from a trap.

This time when Fenris spoke there was no hesitancy in his voice, no chance of dissent in his gravely tone. “You will release the mage to me. We will help you save what mages can be saved and then, if we yet live, we will no longer be your problem.”

 

It had been his first true decision as a free man he realized. One which had been granted life by a mage. The irony was not lost on Fenris as he chuckled darkly. Even now, fifteen years after that moment it was still as sharp in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. And if he occasionally still questioned other decisions he had made during his life, it was not one of them.

They had been hard years, but good ones. The first spent running, saving the innocent when they could from both rebel mages and power hungry Templars, then even more spent trying to save the world from the breech in the sky that made both mage and Templar concerns seem petty. And somewhere in there finally acknowledging the attraction between them that had probably existed since their first, disastrous meeting. They had both fought against it in their own way, the scars of lives lived hard not providing the softest of places for two hearts to land. And yet, with more patience than he would have credited either of them, some type of love had grown.

Which meant it was the last decade he had enjoyed the most. Years spent quietly with his mage, protection from those who would still hunt them being given with grace by the Inquisition. Being able to reconnect with Hawke and Varric, even finding peace with Cullen had been a blessing neither Anders nor himself had anticipated but one that they had both embraced fully. The rebuilding of Haven had been another blessing, neither of them had ever felt at ease in Skyhold. Too many people, too many opportunities for assassins to strike. So the smaller Haven, had given them comfort. The knowledge that they knew their  
neighbors, that Anders' skills as a healer could be counted upon for loyalty.

 

“Fen?”

“Yes mage,” Fenris grumbled, his tone conveying affection as he looked down at the man snuggled into his shoulder. The years had been kind to his mage, just the hint of gray starting in at his temples and faint lines gracing the corners of his eyes.

He felt his lover’s breath, hot on his chest as he sighed. “You don’t have…”

His growl silenced the silly mage. “Do not finish that thought.”

“It’s just,” Anders started again, shifting in his lover’s arms until he could prop his chin up on Fenris’ chest. “Hawke has offered…”

His growl this time was deeper. “Did I not make my feelings known on this fifteen years ago? Have I done something to make you think that I had changed my mind?”

“No Fen,” Anders sighed, a hint of sadness in his voice as he turned to press a soft kiss to the skin above Fenris’ heart.

“I will walk by your side, shall fight and fall by your side.”

“I just wish we had had more time,” Anders whispered softly. “That I could ignore the Calling for longer…”

“Love,” Fenris whispered, enjoying the way his mage’s eyes softened at the rarely used endearment, the way Ander’s pressed into his touch as Fenris’ hand rose to cup his cheek. “You have given me my freedom, now I would give you yours. Do not deny me in this, I lack the patience to even try to live without you.”

Anders chuckled softly, darkly. “Only you would speak of freedom as an order.”

“Yes, well, it is you who has chosen to stay.”

“That I did,” Anders admitted, moving off his lover to the edge of the bed. “And a good choice it has been.”

Reaching for his armor, his eyes falling on bags already packed for the journey, Anders admitted to himself that although it was selfish he was relieved that his lover would be with him to the Deep Roads and beyond.


	3. Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one may hurt, just a warning.

“The Deep Roads? But what about Warden Alistair.”

“It took Alistair many years to find the cure Stan, and more after that before it was an acceptable option for all the Wardens. Unfortunately that discovery came too late for Anders and most of the Wardens I served beside.”

“They should have fought harder.”

“To have darkness whispering in your mind day and night is not something I can even pretend to understand. They fought with honor Stan, sometimes that’s all you can hope for. That and to have someone devoted to your cause fighting alongside you.”

“I guess,” the boy admitted grudgingly.

“Speaking of devotion,” the old man said, rumpling the Stan’s hair. “Did you know that’s also a trait of the mabari?”

 

***************

“Do you see her Boss? Those horns, those stripes, she’s…” Bull growled, the sound echoing through his chest like a purr.

_“Yes, yes, we see it all. Do you see the claws, the teeth? Fasta vass I swear you’d let it curl up your lap if you could.”_

“Worried she’d take your spot ‘Vint?”

_“In this heat? She’s welcome to you.”_

Heat? Bull frowned, shaking his head to scatter the rain that wanted to collect around the base of his horns. Something was wrong, but before he could connect what it was the Inquisitor was off, running through the skeletonized trees with commanding shout. “Subtle Boss, real subtle,” Bull chuckled, headed into the fray at her heels as Varric’s first bolt shot past his ear, so close he could feel the vibration of the air.

“Ataashi,” Bull whispered reverently just before he engaged with a strong cleave at the joint of her right front leg. After all this time fighting together they had it down to a science. Varric would be trying to take out the dragon’s sight, Boss working on the left front leg even as he whittled away at the right. Dorian’s fire splitting the difference between the two until…

That’s what was wrong. There was no fire. Bull stumbled to a stop, the head of his huge double headed axe hitting the ground as memories flooded him. His mind helpfully changed the colors before him from deep blue to gray, breath spitting fire instead of electricity. Fucking fire. Useless fire…

 

_The blood had splattered across his chest when he’d torn his axe from the dragon’s flesh only a split second before Dorian’s fireball had hit the same spot. Bull had backed up several feet, experience teaching him that the beast’s leg would twitch dangerously as its tender exposed flesh burned, but this time nothing. “You losing your touch Kadan?”_

_“Kaffas. She’s immune to fire you imbecile,” Dorian had growled, before his voice dropped too low for Bull’s hearing. He didn’t have to hear the words though to know what Dorian would be saying, without a doubt it had to do with the Boss’s parents and their dubious marital status._

_“Don’t worry ‘Vint, I’ve got you,” he had shouted before throwing himself back into the fray. It wasn’t long before ice bolts started flying. Dorian was nothing if not an overachiever, and he had been practicing his frost magic after finding himself almost useless against the Abyssal High Dragon. Not that anyone in the party would ever call Dorian useless, but his Kadan had always been his own harshest critic._

_“Worry about yourself you lummox,” Dorian shouted, his barrier shifting into place over Bull only a moment before the dragon’s head swung his direction._

_After that talk was seldom, lungs put to better work pumping air as the team battled not only the giant beast but also wave after wave of her offspring. Bull found himself getting into a rhythm, hacking twice at the exposed leg before him before looking around for additional targets, jumping quickly to the right or left when the dragon decided to try incinerating them instead of stomping them to death. A small, exhausted cheer left the group as the beast finally lost the use of both front legs at the same time, her enormous head buckling the ground as she smashed into it._

_“My kill,” Evelyn growled, a determined grin on her blood-streaked face. Bull acquiesced with a small shrug, it was one of the things he loved about the Boss. She was almost as bloodthirsty as he was. He dropped the weight of his axe onto his shoulder, from here it was just a matter of the Boss getting a couple of good swipes through the neck with her broadsword. Like he said, with six high dragon kills behind them they knew what to expect._

_That is his only explanation for why it took them all so long to react. Dorian, looking over at Varric, didn’t even have time to get a barrier up before the dying dragon raised her head and spit fire his way._  
_“KADAN!!!!”_

 

“Oh Kadan,” Bull whispered, the words slipping from him as if his mind could no longer contain the enormity of the memory. With a shake of his head he returned to the present, his axe again raising in battle, hacking at the dragon before him as though bringing it down would somehow bring Dorian back.

His strikes were vicious, each one punctuated by another memory.

Thwack. Dorian on the ground, still moving as Bull started toward him.

Slice. The grimace of pain on his lover’s face as he dropped to his knees next to his scorched body.

Thunk. _“Always hated…dragons.”_

Swing. _“Stay with me Kadan…damn it Dorian…”_

Crash. His still somehow perfectly curled mustache crinkling as he tried to smile. Dorian’s burnt hand rising slowly to tap at the halved dragon tooth dangling from the chain around Bull’s neck. _“Always with you Amatus.”_

“But damn it ‘Vint, you’re not…” The words were torn from his throat, his axe falling again uselessly to his side. Releasing his grip he let his weapon drop to the ground, tears falling from his eye for the first time since that damned day almost two months ago. His whispered words were broken. “You left me here…”

“INQUISITOR!!!”

Years of battle had his body moving before his mind caught up to the danger Krem was pointing out. His brain figuring the angles as Evelyn struggled to pull her sword from the beleaguered dragon, her feet slipping on a patch of blood slicked obsidian, the beast’s leg kicking out as it tried to rid itself of the annoying bit of metal stuck deep into its joint. With mere inches to spare Bull threw himself at the Boss, nudging her out of the way as the claws struck deep and true into his chest. It became impossible to draw air into his lungs, the shouts of his comrades dulled by the roaring of the blood through his veins.  
As if from far away he watched the Boss spring back to her feet, grabbing his discarded axe as she leapt toward Vinsomer’s throat. Number eight, he found himself thinking, his brain starting to go hazy from blood loss even before he found himself looking up into Evelyn’s blood-soaked face.

“Bull,” she cried, tears tracking through the blood.

“’s ok Boss,” Bull whispered, his attention floating from her to the man standing behind her. That smirk as familiar to Bull as his own face even if he could almost see through it. “Kadan…”

_“I told you I would always be here Amatus, come let us see what awaits.”_

 

 

The silence that settled over the field of battle was absolute. For several long moments no one moved, then like a bubble popping, sound rushed back, and everyone was moving at the same time. Grief, heavy and true settled in when silence fled as first Krem, then the rest of the Chargers approached their fallen leader.

“Why’d you do it?”

Wincing at the depth of pain she heard in those few short words Evelyn looked up into Krem’s stricken eyes. She knew the pain she saw in them would be mirrored in each of the Charger’s, just as she knew they would never forgive her.

How could I not was what she wanted to say, but she knew they weren’t ready to hear that. To hear that sometimes the way you helped friends, no, family, the most was in direct conflict to what YOU wanted. To hear that The Iron Bull wasn’t going to recover from Dorian’s loss. That no matter how much time they had given him he had died along with Dorian in that damn desert sun. Today had just been a formality.

Brushing her hand down Bull’s cooling cheek once more, she stood to look Krem in the eye before saying the only thing that mattered. “When it’s a hostile target, you give them what they want. But when it’s someone you care about, you give them what they need.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with the afterlife in this one but after causing these two pain I just had to.


	4. Love

“I think I understand grandpa. It’s like with The Iron Bull, Chief needs to be here more than he wants to be anywhere else.”

The elder didn’t say anything for several long minutes, his hand resting gently on the Stan’s shoulder. Pride in the boy’s quick understanding warred with the loss of innocence that understanding brought. “Love works that way sometimes.”

“But I thought Chief was your dog…”

“As much as I’m his, that’s for sure,” the old man whispered, his hand ruffling the fur at the old dog’s neck before standing. “Go on home now Stan, your mom will be looking for you.”

“Aren’t you coming grandpa?”

“I’ll be along in a bit,” the old man whispered, nudging the mabari at his feet when it chuffed once, calling him on his lie. Stan frowned but stood anyway, stopping to hug the old man tightly before running off down the road. The elder shook his head slightly at speed of youth before slowly making his way to the headstone he’d been sitting in front of all day.

He was thankful for the warm stone under his palm as he lowered himself to his knees. “I hope I did our friends proud Evie. Maker knows I never had the gift Varric did, although Cassie might say that’s a good thing,” he chuckled softly, his right hand reaching out to trace the familiar letters, _Evelyn Trevelyan Rutherford, Herald, Inquisitor, Beloved Wife and Mother_.

 

The old mabari’s howl was the only harbinger to the end of an age. Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford had left this world to join HIS one true love. Chief could only hope to join them soon.


End file.
